McKinley Files Book 1:  Something Stirring
by hillabilla
Summary: We are introduced to many of the main characters; what evil plot is stirring in Lima, Ohio?  I'm starting with Season 1 and have plans up to the present episodes, so as of now, no real spoilers.  R&R!
1. Prologue Intro

**Kurt Hummel**

My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'm a wizard. Okay, a wizard in training.

I'd rather be wearing clothes from Sears.

Alright, lets not jump to immediate conclusions about it. I enjoy it enough, and I've done some good in my time, though no one has recognized it as such. I get tossed into dumpsters as often as I help someone find a missing something or other. I've helped a possessed child, and the same day someone threw pee balloons at me and ruined my Dolce & Gabbana sweater.

Being a wizard in training is made all the more difficult by being forced to go to high school with neanderthals.

My dad is part of the White Council. Do you realize the immensity of the shoes I've been left to fill? I'd be willing to fill those shoes if they were Marc Jacobs or Fendi or something, but these are hardcore wizard shoes, hidden in the wrinkled, malodorous folds of boots that smell like oil and burning gasoline.

I love my dad more than anyone, but he's really pushing this White Council thing. He says I have a responsibility to the world to use magic for good. Really? I'm fifteen years old and invisible. Invisible people shouldn't have that power, and no fifteen year old, especially those here in Lima, should have any responsibility whatsoever–not if it involves life and death situations, which it does, most of the time.

I'm fifteen, and I'd rather spend time fantasizing about making out and hoping I did well on a report on Marco Polo. I have a few minutes a day left to that.

Dad's calling me. He has some free time between appointments and wants to teach me another summoning spell. Yay.

**Sue Sylvester**

Dear Diary:

For someone who is only just turning thirty on into eternity, I'm feeling much older. Yes, laugh if you must, but the years are getting to me. I've spent the last thirty-eight years fighting to get to the top of the food chain, but being trapped in this hell hole town hasn't really made me shine in the eyes of the Red Court. I've done right by them, haven't I? Haven't I been at their beck and call for close to two centuries? And yet I'm still a lapdog. No longer. My seeds of destruction are being sown as we speak. I've taken an interest in one of the Cheerios–Santana, her name is... I think. It doesn't matter what her name is. What matters is that she's addicted to the feedings, as they all become, eventually. She'll work perfectly. I'll have their attention soon enough.

**Mike Chang**

It's getting easier, finally, dealing with this plague of mine. It's not easy, but easier is a blessing. Playing football helps keep me focused on something else for a change, and the running around helps a lot, actually. If I put all of my energy into that, I'm too tired to be too much of a hassle when night falls.

I had one close call, but it was taken care of quickly and quietly. I haven't even wanted to bite anyone in the last two weeks. Finn's lucky I have willpower. I could have honestly killed him... but he has no idea I was that close to tearing out his throat.

I'm locking myself up for the night, now... the moon will be out shortly, and last time I stayed in my room I busted my TV, which Mom is -still- upset about.

It gets easier, right? I mean, it has to. It can't possibly get worse than this.

Good night.

**Noah Puckerman**

Black magic sounds so ghetto, dudes, but yo, I totally made this chick fall for me just by like, looking at her. It might have just been my Pucktastic looks, but whatever works.

How much trouble could I actually get in?

None.

I'm the Puckasaurus.

**Emma Pillsbury**

Oh, my goodness, humans are filthy creatures.

I'm fine with all of them assuming I have some deep-rooted psychosis, because just the idea of explaining to them just how -disgusting- and -unworthy- they are... I'd... I don't know what I'd do, but I'd get in an enormous amount of trouble for it.

I don't know why God sent me here, but if it is to convince them to be cleaner, I don't think I'll be able to convince them.

They are filthy, filthy things.

I can't believe they are the God's holy ones.

I hope he didn't hear me say that.


	2. Discovery

"You're going to be fine, Kurt."

"Dad. You can't possibly believe that I'll be fine after I go into the locker room."

"Everybody does it, it really isn't a big deal–"

"Exactly! Everyone. As in, -everyone-. That's the part I don't like about this plan!"

"You wanted to practice potion-making."

He had me there. It had been my idea. But if I'd known I'd have to gather sweat for the repelling spell, I'd have asked to try something else. Sweat. Oh, ew. And GaGa knows how much effort I put into -not- sweating.

"Dad. We can stop now. We can just put it on a shelf–"

"And you'll never learn? Is that it? We don't have an elemental at our disposal, anymore, Kurt. You need to know how to get out of trouble, and it would really help if you'd look past you're skin products and fancy clothes and take this a bit more seriously!"

"Dad–"

"Kurt!"

And that's the end of that discussion. I know I'm taking a risk starting any argument with him. He may be considered one of the outcasts of the White Council, but he's part of the White Council nonetheless, and as an apprentice he deserves my full respect. Plus, he's right. It won't do me any good dying because I was too skittish about (ugh) a little sweat.

"Fine."

I stalk out of the house holding my bag close to me, trying to walk like it had been my idea, giving my Dad a mildly defiant hair flick, even though he just rolls his eyes and closes the door behind me.

On the drive back to the school, I take my time, delaying the inevitable. I really don't need that much, and the locker room is the quickest and easiest way to get the amount that I need for the spell. I could be in and out of there in no time.

I park my car in the back lot and see the last of the cars pass by me as the football players head home after practice. No one notices me as I carry my bag inside and toward the men's locker room.

I won't go into detail about how I got it, but let's just say I got the sweat I needed and got out of there as quickly as possible and was heading back out when I heard a muffled sort of...moan, I suppose, coming from the next door–the girl's locker room. Now, that isn't exactly a place I spend a lot of time thinking about, and I know I should just keep walking, but the weird, perverted fifteen-year-old that I am decides that I just -have- to see what's going on.

I open the door slowly, peeking in. The moan is a bit louder, and now I can tell it sounds almost pained, scared, alone. I walk in slowly, making as little noise as I can, and slip along the lockers until I can peer around them, unnoticed.

Oh GaGa, I should have kept walking.

One of the Cheerios, her long black hair spilling over her face loosely, is crouched on the ground, mouth locked on the neck of a girl that I couldn't place, but whom was wearing a McKinley girl's hockey tee shirt. The hockey player, she's shaking feebly, her fingers bent up in claws, her eyes hooded, rolled up in her head. The girl over her, she's -licking- her neck...

More specifically, she's licking two puncture marks in the girl's neck.

I pull back and slip back out of the room, unnoticed, and I feel sick.

Great, just great. Vampires.


End file.
